


Inevitable.

by palegingerade



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Explicit Language, Extramarital Affairs, Falling In Love, Fix-It of Sorts, Flashbacks, Flirting, Happy Ending, Infidelity, John isn't far behind., Johnlock Fluff, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mary is Not Pregnant, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Post-Reichenbach, Psychic Bond, Requited Love, Romantic Fluff, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock is head over heels, Texting, Top John, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:11:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5674054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palegingerade/pseuds/palegingerade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"One night, and we never speak of this again, agreed? This isn't exactly how I wanted it to happen but, hell, it's better than nothing and I'm damned if I can fight this any longer!"</p><p>"Agreed. One whole, endless night of intemperate, unbridled, pure unadulterated bliss, and we never speak of this again."</p><p>"Oh, <em>god - " </em></p><p> <br/>Sherlock is so in love.<br/>John can't believe his luck.<br/>Mary finally knows the truth.</p><p>It's inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inevitable.

**Author's Note:**

> I know I haven't updated my other Sherlock fic for months but I'm so happy after the special I can't bring myself to write angst. I'll get round to it eventually.
> 
> This little ramble has been in my head ever since S3 and it turned out a bit longer than I thought. Oops. Hope you like it :)

John booted the door closed and threw down the carrier bag, seating himself at his desk and reaching in his pocket for his constantly vibrating phone. He'd felt several text alerts hum against his hip on the walk from the supermarket, another two since he'd arrived back at the surgery at least, and knew, without question, who the messages were from. There was no one it could be but Sherlock. No one else was ever this persistent. And even if he wasn't needed for something as important as a case, if Sherlock simply wanted to know which shirt he preferred him to wear that evening at dinner (none!) no one valued his opinion or needed him nearly as urgently as Sherlock did.

The flashbacks of a bare chested Sherlock play over again in John's mind: miles of near-transparent skin so deliciously glowing as they lie in a mass of tangled limbs in his bed, breaths heaving, sheets ruined, Sherlock boneless and so perfect falling asleep in his arms - 

He smiles and swipes to unlock his phone, ignoring the ignited flare of heat as it burns steadily through his stomach and glancing at the clock and the long list of messages as he hurries both arms from his jacket. 

When he'd first moved from 221b and married Mary texts from this number had been few and far between, as if Sherlock was trying to move on and forget, delete the impossible: memories of a life lived so happily together, and, finally, John understood why. Because he'd felt it too. Constantly. Whether bored at work, on the tube, in the shower, even in bed with his wife, the ghosts of the past - a history so ingrained in the very fiber of his being, had point blank refused to be erased. Sherlock was still with him. All the time. Whether John wanted him there or not..

_John?_

_Erm, a little busy at the moment.._

_Why am I still here then? Stop thinking about me.._

_Not now!_

_Can't do it, can you?.._

_Uh, shut up, Sherlock!_

John reads from the top, that phone number so familiar he could probably recite it backwards with his eyes closed should he ever need to do so.

[11:38am. So, last night was really rather, good, - wasn't it? Sx]

Typical Sherlock, still so unsure and seeking reassurance when last night had been nothing short of mind blowing for the both of them. John grins again. When this whole thing had started he had been bound and determined to finally smash every single ounce of his niggling self doubt into a million pieces, and he's almost there. Hopefully it wouldn't take much longer.

[11:39am. You've outdone yourself this time I must say. I can hardly move. Impressive. Anyway, just wanted to tell you I was thinking about you. Sx]

So not typical Sherlock, then. John is definitely on the right track.

[11.45am. Okay, - I'm thinking about you a lot! How dare you continue to sexually harass me in this impertinent manner, Dr. Watson? Sx]

Sherlock Holmes was actually _flirting_ with him. And, it appeared, doing a damn fine job of it. John's breath catches dry in his throat and he stifles the beginning of a bewildered giggle of joy.

[11:47am. Sorry. Don't know what's come over me. You're probably busy. I'll leave you alone. Sx]

"Uh, no, don't you dare -"

The back of John's neck burns hot too and he takes off his jumper. Mary will no doubt be back soon and he knows he doesn't have long, but he can spare a few minutes to talk to Sherlock, any time, and, luckily, there's still plenty left to continue daydreaming about him before the disruption of his next patient. The screen is now fogged with John's shallower breaths and he continues streaking up it with his thumb.

[12:00pm. But I do wish you'd wake me before you leave. I never get chance to kiss you goodbye. Rather rude of me. Apologies. Sx]

[12:02pm. You left the scarf I bought tied to the headboard. You have a much longer walk now. Want me to drop it off? Sx]

[12:05pm. I'm naked and wearing it, is that bad? It smells of you. The left side of my pillow smells of you. Even my hair smells of you. That's bad, isn't it? That's probably bad. I'll probably delete this, too. Sx] 

[12:08pm. I know you're alone. Any particular reason you're keeping me waiting? You know how terribly impatient I am. Sx]

[12:10pm. Shall I drop off your scarf? I need to see you. It's -2 outside, you should wrap up. Don't worry I'll be the very height of discretion and on my best behaviour. Well, at least I'll attempt to be, can't promise I'm afraid. Mary won't even know I'm there? Sx] 

John was about to say that made two of them, until he reads the next message and the ache in his heart almost implodes in his chest.

[12:10pm. But - for the record, since we're alone and I know you delete these, me and my warm bed unbarably miss you. Sx]

"Wow, Sherlock.."

[12:11pm. I swear I can hear you. You're all over me today, you're everywhere. God, and it's making me hard again. How can that be possible?! Sx]

[12.11pm. Too much? Probably too much. Sorry, again. I'm rambling. You're amazing. Coffee. Cold shower. Speak later. Amazing. Truly. Sx]

[12:16pm. John? ]

John's hapless grin widens until his jaw begins to ache. He sighs, smiles, wants so badly to reply but he can't. He doesn't have a clue what to say. How can he possibly match up to something so incredibly raw and sentimental as that, or say everything he wants to say to Sherlock in such limited confines of a text?! The way he felt couldn't be put into words anyway, and John knew that now more than ever. He'd been trying to make sense of it since the very moment they met and still no words of any language did it justice. 

He had never experienced so much as a flicker of this total and complete adoration for another human being in his life. Being with Sherlock anywhere was enough, but being with him at Baker Street, just the two of them in secret, alone and away from the prying eyes and idle gossip, where they could just be together, comfortable in each others arms, was everything. He should probably type that, John thinks. He does and deletes it. Battling with his conscious enough to do what he did, stepping closer instead of backing away, filling air that fizzed between them for days after a particular thrilling case with the sounds of nervous giggles and hungry wet kisses had been long overdue, but now that feeling had become so much bigger, so much more intense than anything he had ever dreamt he could feel. And although John can't bring himself say it yet he already knows he could never get enough.

Sherlock was, of course, correct. He _was_ alone. He hadn't joined Mary at the pub for lunch for the third time this week, and today she hadn't bothered to invite him. She'd gone with the new girl on reception - Janine something-or-other from book club, or something, he hadn't bothered to listen. He'd barely heard a word of what they'd been chatting and whispering and giggling about all morning. Truth be told he'd been far too preoccupied with a certain breathtakingly beautiful consulting detective of late to have any thoughts at all that weren't thoroughly and disgustingly debauched. 

John hadn't just slipped back into Sherlock's exciting whirlwind of adventures like no time had lapsed between them, he also slipped very comfortably into his bed, and vowed to carry on doing so for as long as he could, at every available opportunity after the night of their first kiss..

_'I want you, John, I want you so much!'_

_'I know. I know you do. Christ knows I want you too. This is crazy. Insane. Oh fuck! Stop! Wait a second..'_

_'Sorry. Did I do something - wrong?'_

_'No! No you didn't. Uhh, look at you, gorgeous. Come here -'_

_'Mmminbed..'_

_'W-what?'_

_'Bed. Now please.'_

_'Jesus Christ! Are you serious?'_

_'Yes. Now. Bed please.'_

_'Mm, it can only be tonight. You do understand? That I- I can't - even if I wanted -'_

_'Yes.'_

_'One night, and we never speak of this again, agreed? If you want me then this is the way you can have me until I figure out what to do. This isn't exactly how I wanted it to happen, but hell, it's better than nothing and I'm damned if I can fight this any longer!'_

_'You - wanted this to happen?'_

_'God yes! Of course, yes. But I never thought that you would, ever-'_

_'Okay. Agreed. One whole, endless night of intemperate, unbridled, pure unadulterated bliss, and we never speak of it again.'_

_'Oh, god - "_

_' - I wanted that, too. I wholeheartedly, completely want that now. Your rules, always. Your way. Whatever you want. Just say the word. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere this time.'_

_'Only if - uh, fuck, give me a minute here, FUCK! Only if you're sure?'_

_'I am one hundred percent certain. Now for Christ sake, John, get in my bed!'_

He knew the bracing tension they had built solidly over the years would take a long time to break through, but they had gotten off to a pretty good start. What had started as a spur of the moment discussion panted hot in each others mouths had quickly morphed into something so painfully intense John could hardly stand it. The 'One night and one night only,' had been, 'One night and one morning only?' And as morning rolled lazily into late afternoon, the next day, and the third, and then, 'Oh fuck it! The end of the week?' he knew it was far too late, that neither of them wanted to stop what they'd started...

_'Just checking, but you did say any time any place, didn't you?'_

_'Way ahead of you, John. As always. Bathroom?'_

_'Absolutely. After you..'_

Lestrade catching him with his jeans round his ankles when he hadn't noticed he'd left the bathroom door ajar had only added fuel to his already burning fire. And, thankfully, after the D.I stood motionless, mouth gaping in shock, he had simply rolled his eyes and slammed the door shut again before Sherlock's had chance to devour him. The fact that he'd had one of the best blowjobs of his life during Mary's birthday party, when Sherlock had invited their entire circle of friends for drinks and they were all celebrating inches away as he bit Sherlock's knuckles and came hard down his throat was a bit not good, he had to admit, but John still couldn't stop there. He couldn't stop this now if his life depended on it. He was in far too deep, falling so hard he was drowning in surprisingly strong arms and even more surprising soft lips. For once Sherlock was the forbidden drug and John the addicted heavy user. Dammit, he was all John could think about!

He'd left Sherlock sleeping peacefully a mere five hours previous, padding quietly around his bed and retrieving various items of clothing that had been torn off him in the mindless white heat of their lust, taking one last long look as he smiled, dressed, and left for work in silence, disposing of countless torn foil packets of evidence in a bin on the way and turning up his collar to hide the worst of the throbbing bitten bruises.  
The thought of Sherlock having to do the same; hiding the purple mess of teethmarks John had littered over his pale and flawless skin, makes him once again as hard as a rock, and he intends to race back and add a few more as soon as was damn well possible.

His perfectly fine and ordinary life with the perfectly fine and ordinary woman he'd been married to for maybe a month or so paled in comparison to the one love he was feeling now. This glorious week of finally being Sherlock Holmes' lover was all that mattered, and the gnawing guilt he'd felt at first evaporated still with his every quickening word.

[12:19pm. On lunch. She's out. Back soon. Yes, that is bad. You're a very bad man, Mr. Holmes! Deleting this now. Jx]

[12:19pm. But yes, of course, I miss you too. Jx]

[12:21pm. And, just for the record, - you're everywhere all over me too. Jx ]

[12:21pm. Deleting this now. ]

[12:28pm. Sherlock? ]

Sherlock's response is immediate, as if John had called out his name.

[12:28pm. Here. Didn't want to distract you from your sorry looking Tesco meal deal. You need to keep your strength up. Although keen to distract you later. Fancy doing me again tonight? Sx]

"Christ!"

[12:28pm. Sorry, gloves. Forgive me. Fancy doing tea again tonight? Sx]

[12:28pm. Yes, yes I do. Yes to both in fact. Like you even need to ask. What do you mean sorry looking? Where exactly are you? Jx] 

John drops his phone and pivots to face the window. No, surely Sherlock wouldn't be so blatent as to come to his work. Not now it had become downright impossible for John to keep his hands off him. That would be too risky even for Sherlock and he couldn't promise not to lock the office door and throw him down on his desk this time.

[12:29pm. Unimportant. I'll order takeout once you've come. I know how you like it hot. Sx]

[12:29pm. Over! Once. You've. Come. Over. Sorry, gloves again. Chinese? Anything else I can do for you? Let me know if you're hungry. Sx]

With that last little 'mistake' John almost chokes on the first bite of his sandwich. He had never found dirty talk of any kind particularly easy with anyone before, but this isn't just anyone. Since the first day of his honeymoon, bored and alone by the pool and with an equally boring book, he'd unexpectedly become the instigator of a battle of backwards and forwards text messages. Each one increasing heated until he was in bed with his sleeping wife having what could only be described as screaming hot phone sex with his best friend. Dying to do more than talk as that obscenely filthy voice described every detailed inch of his newly aquired tan lines, returning the volley had soon become second nature, and the wicked temptation is still too great to resist.

[12:29pm. Starving! No thanks to you. Can't stop thinking about last night. You were fucking incredible! Do you have any idea what you do to me when you're like that? Jx]

[12.30pm. Got a pretty good idea, yes. Surprised I can still walk. Good job I don't need to think of anything but you today. Come straight from work. We can eat each other in bed. Sx]

[12.30pm. OFF OF! Eat off of each other in bed. And I'm not even wearing gloves this time. See what you do to me, too, John? Enjoy lunch, and please don't let it ruin your appetite. Sx]

Still smiling, he rests his phone on the stack of patients notes on his desk. He really ought to at least attempt to get his head out the clouds and concentrate on sorting them in some kind of order, and he was going to, in a minute, after he ate and thought about last night at least a dozen more times.

As he closes his eyes he's back there again: Baker Street, the brass cooling the clenching heat of his palm. The loud rap makes him wince and after making sure it's angled the way Sherlock had told him, he let's go of the door knocker and curses under his breath. "Come on, Sherlock.." John's never had to wait on the doorstep before, and, instantly, he hates it. It makes him feel exposed, like an outsider, a client, like anyone in the street could look at him out in the open and deduce what he's about to do. He hates the thought of being caught sneaking around behind his wife's back. It only cheapened their affair, tarnished and made it shameful, something wrong that they should have known better than to give in to, and John hates that most of all. He doesn't feel ashamed, far from it. He feels amazing, fantastic, more alive than ever before. And when Sherlock flings the door open, looking equally as exhilarated, slightly breathless and pink in the cheeks from the eager dash down stairs, he knew what they were doing could never be wrong. It could never be something as sordid as an affair, at least not to John. It was inevitable. Just like how it should have been from the very start. Like all the time wasted in the middle hadn't happened - didn't count. Like all he was doing was coming home.

"Your, keys?"

For a split second Sherlock looks sad and a little lost at the sight of him shuffling nervously on his doorstep. As if somehow he'd managed to rediculously convince himself that John had changed his mind and was about to back out of whatever this was before it had even begun. It makes John sad too that Sherlock could ever think that, but it makes him smile at the same time. He hadn't just managed to satisfy the most brilliant man he'd ever known, who was so fantastic in bed John could hardly believe he was, for now, technically a virgin - much better than that: he'd actually managed to get under his skin. "No. God, I haven't, I'm not here to - No. Mary took my set by accident. Sorry, I should have called first. I didn't - never meant to make you -" Sherlock instantly softens and his slight smile of relief turns both John's knees to liquid.

"It's fine. I'll leave it open, next time -"

It's definitely a question: Sherlock still doubts him. "Yes. Better. Then I won't have to disturb Mrs. Hudson at this time of night." He reassures anyway, clears his throat, smiles back at Sherlock and nervously grabs for the doorframe as their eyes connect and the contents of his stomach leap into the throes of a violent somersault. "Come to think of it," he coughs again, his grip tightening for balance, "it's not like she won't be watching through her net curtains already. She thinks we've been doing this all along, despite the fact that I married someone else and spent the best part of five years trying to convince her I was straight."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, what you're about to do to me tonight isn't very - straight- " Sherlock smiles again. He smiles back. "Anyway, Mrs. Hudson is averagely intelligent and she knew before you did. Mind you, who didn't?"

"Did you just insult me? Not a very wise thing to do since you want me to tie you up. I could get my own back on you in all _sorts_ of ways.." 

"- I, I never said I wanted - that."

"You didn't have to. You obviously rub off on me more than you think." For a brief moment Sherlock looks flustered and ever so slightly - impressed?? John can't be sure but he grins triumphantly anyway. Although beating Sherlock at his own game with deduction is an extremely rare occasion, he adores the effect it has when he does.

"N-no -" Sherlock's face instantly flushes, his breath visible and warm on John's lips. "Not an insult. Fact. Mrs. Hudson would rather it be us who we were married, and, going by the immediate dilation of your pupils, so would you. In fact I haven't seen you look quite this fulfilled in weeks, five weeks and two days to be precise. How long is it since you moved out, exactly?"

"You just can't help it, can you? Stay out of my head!" John warns with a grin, "and play nice or I'm leaving." 

"Hmm, no you're not." 

"Stop!" He blushes as Sherlock's eyes meet his again, dark and already reading him like the expanse of an explicit open book. Sherlock's jealousy really shouldn't be this much of a turn on but just knowing how passionately the most intelligent man in the world wanted him still blew John's much more ordinary mind. By now he is positively dizzy with anticipation but Sherlock doesn't move aside so he has to squeeze past, each of his senses already pumped full of the heady scent of freshly washed hair and cigarette smoke. Sherlock only ever smoked when John came over, which just happened to be every night this week, and John only allows it because he understands how quickly his own cravings take hold, how each of them twist like knives in his belly and brim to the surface of his skin as soon as he's alone with the man of his long suffering wet dreams and the rest of the world is shut out.

"Oh and you needn't worry, I'll play nice," Sherlock sighs hot in his hair, skimming his nails over the throb at his temple, not even waiting until John had managed to cross onto the rug and close the door. "I always play nice. It's you who needs me to misbehave so you can assert your authority, isn't it? Captain."

"How can, you possibly? -" John gasps, shocked but still smiling. Of course he would know, he was Sherlock-bloody-Holmes! "Not fair. I've told you before, stay out of my head!"

"Okay. Your way. Always your way. What did you tell her indoors? As long as you've got time to do everything you're imagining doing to me. Let's just see here, for science -" Sherlock tilts his chin so their eyes meet again and smiles the kind of smile that makes John grab his hips. "God, really? You want to do _that?_ Not sure if I have any chocolate syrup. Much more Mycroft's area."

"Sherlock!" John yells but there's no use denying it. He can never hide anything from him. It was almost as if Sherlock's entire hard drive had been wiped clean and there was only one thing he'd bothered to restore. Sherlock read him like vast encyclopaedias had been written on his every wanton fantasy. He knew exactly how to touch him and what to do to make him melt, and after craving those hands on him every single day the result when he did was - earth shattering. "I can stay," John rushes, "all night. If you want me to? I said Lestrade had something for you and you needed me to stay. I hate lying to her but it'll be worth it in the end and it won't be for much longer. I should be alright for this weekend too, I think, as long as we don't sleep late and you don't use his bloody handcuffs again, you bastard! Non of that stuff tonight. I want this to be slow - be really, good, for you - What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh John, still so naive. You're not lying to her. Of course I need you to stay. I always need you here. Now enough of this unnecessary foreplay. Just fuck me."

As soon as they're inside the flat Sherlock collides into him. That unsure and gentle mouth suddenly so ravenous that John's legs hollow and he falls into his arms. Bits of rabidly undone clothing soon litter a path to Sherlock's bedroom as John's hands and starving lips attack right back, giving Sherlock exactly what he hadn't needed to ask for until they're both naked and sweaty, sliding together, desperately rolling around in the sheets and, finally, he has Sherlock where he wants him: sprawled on his back, writhing wet on his fingers, until John's so deep inside him he can barely even think straight.

"Mmm, oh god, John!.. - So good.. - Keep going... Like that! FUCK! Oh fuck!"

John flexes his aching shoulders and leans back in his chair, taking a much needed deep breath to try and calm himself down. He can still feel the ragged wet breath on his neck, the hard bite of teeth as his body convulses with Sherlock's again and again, over and over with each reciprocated raw thrust of his hips. Right then and there, in that one blissful moment, he had never known pleasure quite like it. The excruciating rip of trembling, talented fingers are still singing hot down his spine. 

At first he'd been pleasantly surprised at Sherlock's preference for rough sex - for any sex at all for that matter, but not now. Now they hadn't just crossed that line, they'd shagged each other senseless all over it. Now there was no turning back. John wanted everything. Everything it was possible for two people to do, in every way and in every position. 

Now he didn't just want to be in Sherlock's life, or his bed, he needed it.

Badly.

He awakes from his daydream to the sound of two unmistakable raised voices. One sharp and angry that pierces through his skull like a hot skewer, and one a low and muffled baritone that floods straight to his cock.

"Five minutes."

"You need an appointment!"

"Two minutes?"

"YOU NEED AN APPOINTMENT!"

"I don't need an appointment."

"He's very busy!"

"Nope.."

"I've told you before about looking in the appointment book, Sherlock. It's confidential!"

"I didn't."

"Why now? Huh?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want him? Why now?"

"For a case."

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT AND _YOU_ KNOW IT!"

"I, don't know what you're - "

"You _know_ as well as I know. It's written all over your face. I know you're in love with him, Sherlock. The whole damn world knows it. Can you make it anymore blindingly obvious?! Deny it, go on. I dare you. Deny it! He's mine before I'll ever let him be yours!"

_Not true. Yours. Always._

"Mary, I c-can't.. "

"Sherlock?" Blood hammers in John's ears as he stares from the slammed open door. Surely he couldn't have heard what he'd thought he'd just heard, could he?? Sherlock Holmes, who had never been even remotely fond of sentiment, couldn't possibly, ever actually, be, really - in _love_ with him?

_Obviously!_

_Oh my god -_

_Hmm, no, not quite. Didn't see that one coming did you, doctor?_

_Smart arse!_

_Not now. She knows. So sorry. I should never have -_

_No. Not your fault._

"Ah, John. A minute of your time, perhaps?" Sherlock turns fully to face him, looks him dead in the eye, smiles at him like they're the only ones there as their unspoken words hum like static between them. 

"Yes. Yes of course, yes." The words lunge from John's throat before he can stop them - not that he wants to. He coughs, swallows down the returning pure judder of indescribable _want_ along with the fading echos of Sherlock. "What's going on here? Not very professional, Mary?"

"He says he really needs to see you."

"Uhhuh. Yes." John nods again.

"But he doesn't have an appointment."

"I. Don't. Need. An. Appointment!"

"He doesn't need an appointment."

"Fine! I give up. Go ahead. You're already running half an hour behind. Don't blame me if you're here all night -"

"He won't. He'll blame your second large glass of Riesling, oh, and two bourbon chasers. Busy lunch was it?"

_Not now, Sherlock!_

Mary ignores the jibe with a loose shrug of her shoulders. "I've got book club tonight so I'm leaving at 5. Do what you like." Her eyes flick between Sherlock and John as she speaks. John's remain fixed on the third taut button of the purple silk shirt he'd asked Sherlock to wear last night, as if his searingly intense eye contact could burst it wide open if he stares long enough. He'd certainly undressed him with his eyes plenty of times before. "I'll expect you home later, my darling husband, but I won't hold my breath."

"Shame."

_You're a very bad man, Mr. Holmes!_

John chews his lower lip to stop himself grinning, clears his throat so sternly it hurts. "Enough. Both of you, enough! Sherlock?" He thuds back the door to his office and tries not to react as the waft of Sherlock's coat tail brushes softly against his crotch. And, dammit, how had he failed to notice Sherlock was wearing that scarf!? Mary hadn't seen it before, and if she had she couldn't possibly have known what they had done with it. She knew nothing of the depth of what they had together now, and it shouldn't have taken John this long to see the truth either. He stares at the knotted red wool until his eyes begin to water, pretty certain if he didn't use it to bind Sherlock's wrists and shag him hard into oblivion again his entire body would combust.

As usual Sherlock didn't disappoint.

"I'm afraid this is a matter of the utmost urgency and I'm going to have to hurry you. It simply cannot wait a moment longer. I hope you understand?"

"Completely. Say no more. Thought it might need more attention. Didn't make much progress at all last night, did we? Go on through. Take a seat. I'll be with you in just a minute." John turns to Mary to see her whisper again in Janine's ear. Janine smiles and glances over at him and John has to turn away. He was going to make another excuse - tell his wife not to disturb them and for them both to get back to work. But there's no longer any point. He isn't bothered anymore. He's heard enough - seen enough, been through damn well enough to last a lifetime.

No more lies.

None.

The door clicks shut and immediately Sherlock's body pins him helplessly against it.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come here. So sorry. I didn't mean to - God, John, I can't bear it, you don't understand. I can't, I simply can't not do this -"

"It's alright."

As Sherlock's lips press in his forehead John's hand smooths down his shirt, his thumb gently circling the nicely healing wound of the bullet hole, made by the one person who had betrayed them the most. He was no Sherlock Holmes by any means, but he didn't need to be. The clues he'd ignored, the missing pieces of the puzzle, had suddenly lined up in plain sight. Having Sherlock here standing before him like this: so unmistakably _his,_ reguardless of what his wife had done, whatever the world threw at them and however bad it got, spoke volumes.

"Sorry, again."

"Don't. You don't need to apologise, not to me. You faked your own death, remember? If I can forgive you for that then I think we're pretty good here, don't you?" Sherlock only held him tighter.

"John, I think, I mean, I _know_ I - really, almost madly -"

"I know," John bit his lip and brushed a gleaming windswept curl from Sherlock's forehead, not daring himself to look into his eyes for too long as he pulled back and squeezed his hand. John quickly grabbed for his other. Fainting at a time like this wouldn't be a good thing. He was the only doctor on duty after all. "And me. You have to know that I do. You _do_ know that, right?" He realises he sounds stupidly nervous as Sherlock slowly leans in to kiss him.

"Of course I know. I've always known. You and I were always, inevitable."

As the wet heat of Sherlock's mouth overpowered his and the slight stroke of his tongue sent an electric jolt down his spine, before he lost what fleeting control he had left, he needed Mary to know it too. She had to know. He wanted her to know. And as Sherlock's warm hands skim beneth his own untucked shirt he knew that it had to be sooner than he'd planned. 

He smiles against Sherlock's lips, sits him down on the desk in all his flushed and undone glory, stares in awe as Sherlock grabs his thighs so tight he's forced and ground between his. John quickly takes over, rolls him gently on his back, links their hands and spreads them wide above their heads, and then kisses him again so desperately his head begins to spin. "Christ, this is bad, isn't it? This is really bad!"

"What do you need me to do? Leave you alone? I can do that. I want you to know I can do that, John. I'll deny everything. Say it was me. Say it was only me. It was enough before, I'm sure it'll be enough again -"

"No. Just. Stop! Being around you every day and not being able to do this?" He cups Sherlock's slightly quivering jaw and feels the charge in their next kiss prickle all the way down the back of his neck. "No. Impossible. I couldn't do it, couldn't take it. Out of the question!"

" - then I'll leave then. Give you time to sort it out? Six months maybe? A year? I'm sure my brother can - "

"No you bloody-well won't! You're not going anywhere, and I'll tell Mycroft that myself. Not again, do you hear me?!" John's fists clench at Sherlock's shoulders in an attempt to hide the sudden and debilitating stab of panic in his voice. "Losing you, again, isn't an option. Over my dead body, Sherlock! I swear to god!" 

"And very probably over mine."

"Never gonna happen! Not with me!" John lowers his voice so it's barely a whisper. "I'm sorry. I should have stopped this. You did nothing wrong. This was me. It was all me." His tense grip on both Sherlock's arms softens and they close around his lower back.

"Not entirely, I can assure you. But, believe me, I tried to resist. Really I did. But even when you left you were always there."

"Fuck, so did I! I even spoke to you. So many times. Sometimes full conversations. I missed you so much I thought I was going mad - am, mad. God, Sherlock, you've done my brain in!"

"I heard you. I still hear you. All the time."

"We've been so stupid. Christ, I should have ended things with her months ago. Ever since you first came back I wanted to - Why the hell didn't I see all of this before you had to - " There's a crack in his voice that chokes him. He still can't bring himself to say the word.

_\- fall._

"I did. That's why I - No matter. You're safe now. Everything else is just - " 

John kisses him again, Sherlock moans in his mouth as he slowly rakes his fingers through his soft mass of curls and prepares to ask the impossible. "So, - what now?"

Sherlock shrugs his shoulders as if it's nothing. "Well, we could be like this? If you want? Just us. It could be like it was before. John, you are aware of the fact that you can always, no matter what happens, come home?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Come home, John."

This time there is no question from either, and absolutely no doubt. John kisses him again, and again, and again, until they're exchanging the same suffocating mouthful of air and he's numb from the waist down.

_God, I love you. I love you so much, you idiot._

Everything would be fine. Somehow he'd make sure.

He didn't need to say it out loud but he'd never been more certain. After all this time he finally knew exactly where he belonged.


End file.
